


Psychotherapy

by chimaeracabra



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Choke Play, Choking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Breakdown, Mental Coercion, Mental Health Issues, Rape Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:38:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimaeracabra/pseuds/chimaeracabra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's in recovery, living with Steve, and getting some therapy for his traumatic past when he develops a crush on his psychiatrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychotherapy

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not comfortable with the tagged warnings aforementioned, PLEASE do not read. Inspirational song, Infra-Red by Placebo.

            He knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He knew where he was going, and the icy chill of winter wasn't going to stop him. He pulls the hood of a blue sweatshirt over his head and continues on his way. He's been walking for twenty minutes. It's past one in the morning. Bucky made sure Steve was asleep before he left the apartment. He doesn't want anyone to know, and they _can't_ know. He doesn't want to ruin her career, he wants to be with her. Enough word had gotten out about Captain's mentally ill assassin friend being brought to rehabilitation under the watchful eyes of the new "S.H.I.E.L.D."—P.R.O.T.E.C.T.—as they called it now. In another ten minutes, he pauses in front of the house he'd walked to three nights ago. Then, he didn't have the courage to go any further than the front porch, but the light on beckons him and he makes his way closer. He pulls the small metal file from his pocket and picks the lock with silent ease, a skill he's had for as long as he can possibly remember. She'll be sleeping now, he knows. The heat cues on as he stands there in the open doorway. He closes it and stands still in the dark for only a moment. He stalks into what appears to be a kitchen, flicks the light switch. He sits at the counter and removes his sweatshirt, waiting for his hands to warm up.

            He can't stop replaying that moment a week ago in her office…how far it could have gone. He wants it to continue. After a moment lost in fantasy, the soldier stands and makes his way out of the kitchen. He's never been here before, and as he flicks off the light switch, he nearly trips over the table in the hall. He curses below his breath, pausing for at least thirty seconds. In his quiet search, the soldier finds the landing of a stairwell. He silently makes his way up it, pausing with a jumping heart when floorboards he's not familiar with creak under his feet. He continues as quietly as possible, only to be met with the sudden _swoosh_ of a metal bat that he nearly fails to see coming around the corner of a wall. A scream meets his ears and he tackles the woman to the floor before she can take another swing. He rips the bat away and throws it down the hall. She won't stop struggling, like before, and he can tell she has no idea who it is pinning her to the cold hardwood floor.

            "Be quiet," he says calmly. She stops trying to fight, though they both know he'd already had her right where he wanted her. He grins.

            "What the fuck are you doing in my house? Get off me," she barks. He knows she doesn't mean it. He lowers his head in the dark to get a better look at her. There isn't a trace of fear on her face. Aside from Steve, she's the only one who ever looks at him like this these days. Without fear.

            "How did you know where I live?" she asks. Bucky smiles.

            "I told you to get off me."

He pulls her with him into a standing position, and doesn't waste a moment attacking her lips. The psychiatrist gasps. He likes it when she makes that sound. She'd gasped when he grabbed her by the back of the neck—the first time he ever touched her, in her office. She struggles for only a moment, turning her head away. In the process, Felicite's hands claw into the soldier's chest, and when he groans, she knows she has to distance herself. Deep down, she'd found herself intrigued from the moment the soldier waltzed into her office. Their sessions were recorded, sound only. Before he'd grabbed her, he made a point to press the button that would stop the recorder. And she knew that if she'd let him try to touch her any further, let his metallic hand crawl any further under her pencil skirt, the guards keeping watch outside of the room would have heard and come rushing to her aid. She shakes her head, taking a few step back and wiping her mind clear of that moment in her office. For almost a month, he'd simply sat on that blue couch with arms crossed, staring her down with an anger that had been just about tangible. He'd stonewalled the entire first week of sessions. The first thing Bucky ever actually said to her was that he'd killed a lot of people, and he wasn’t sure how to atone for it. The sessions were meant to recuperate his broken mind, and Felicite had finally decided to prescribe James something for the night terrors that Steve said were troubling him at night, causing him to scream himself awake. He'd only just _begun_ to open up, and every story was fuzzy, gory, or sad. She hadn't been genuinely afraid of James until this moment. She wasn't sure he'd have had the care to investigate her. She finally decides that he must have snooped around her office and figured out her address that one day she managed to be half an hour late to their session because of an argument she'd been having with Nick Fury. She'd been chosen to do this job because she used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D., the new agency—headed by Fury himself—being P.R.O.T.E.C.T.. They were going to try and replace Felicite as James's psychiatrist. They weren't patient enough, wanted to reach a breakthrough with him. He knew _a lot_ about HYDRA, and other organizations that could have been considered a threat. It was Felicite's job to jog James's memory. She had been sitting atop her desk when he finally decided to stand up off the couch and approach her. She didn't even flinch to hit the panic button under the desk, or scream to alert the guards outside the closed doors. She'd let him get right up into her face and tell her exactly what he wanted to do. He wasn't so much remembering information about HYDRA as he was expressing his guilt for hurting so many people.

            And that particular day last week, he happened to divulge some things from the morbid recesses of his mind. Sexual things. Things that surprised Felicite. They weren't things that had been done to him during his time with HYDRA, they were things he desired to _do_. She recalls the way he'd walked right up and gripped her by the back of the neck. She still had a bruise on her right upper thigh from the force of his bionic grip. The way he'd pushed his hand under her skirt was surprising. Felicite had frozen on the spot. His fingers carelessly tore the nylon of her opaque black tights, and he had looked her right in the eye and whispered insanity, his urges. And as he spoke, it began to arouse her. She couldn't believe how long she'd let it carry on for. She had allowed him to cross the line between professional and private, and only stopped him when he crammed his lips against her forehead and inhaled her scent desperately. She'd maneuvered around him, broken eye contact, and ended the session ten minutes earlier than she was supposed to…Felicite shakes her head again and brings herself back to the present moment, the one where Bucky is standing in her house only a few feet away.

            He says to her, "One of these days, you're going to let me..."

The deep and morbid way that Bucky says this causes her blood to boil, but not in anger, per se. She backs up until she's against the wall in the dark. She eyes the metal bat several feet away from her where it shines under the light of a half-moon. Bucky turns to glance at the bat, a shower of brunette falling against his masculine chin. He laughs, and she knows this is because she probably couldn't hurt him if she'd tried. She knows he's fast enough to get to that bat before she can even make a move.

            "You're not supposed to be here. What do you want?" she asks, lifting her head up off the wall.

            "I want you to stop playing games with me," he says, and as he takes a few steps closer, she stiffens.

            "I'm not stupid," he adds, "You sit there and listen to me talk about torture five days a week…You didn't even move when I grabbed you. You could have. You could have screamed for help…you didn't."

She closes her eyes a moment and listens to the way he'd sounded so empty when he told her all these dark thoughts.

            "This isn't happening. I think you're confused, James. And I think you need to go," she says calmly.

            " _That's_ what I can't stand," he says, pressing his fingers into his temples.

            "Your denial."

            " _You're_ in denial."

She wonders exactly how long it has been since he'd fucked anyone. His thoughts were becoming more and more bestial as time went on.

            "Does Steve know where you are?"

            "Does Steve know where I am," Bucky says, almost in a mocking tone, "This has nothing to do with Steve."

            "What do you want?"

            "I think you already know, doctor Cole," he says, and in the dark, she can see his eyebrows cocking slightly. His expression is grave as he closes in further.

            "Don't do anything you'll regret," she says, "If you kill me—"

            "I'm not here to kill you."

Her heart skips beats as he steps closer to her still.

            "I just want…"

Her eyes are closed again when he finally grips her waist desperately. A breath catches in her throat.

            "Mr. Barnes—"

            "Don't say my name like that," he says quietly.

His grip tightens and she finally looks. He pushes his cold metal hand through her hair and she gasps, turns her head to the side so that her cheek makes contact with the wall. He knew his whole arm must've been freezing from all the time he'd spent hunting her down in the middle of the night. He was used to being put in the cold.

            "Say it right," he whispers. She doesn't look at him as he pushes his hand through her hair continuously.

            "Go on," he breathes impatiently.

Felicite doesn't know what makes her more uncomfortable, the fact that she knows precisely what he's trying to do, or the fact that she _wants_ it to happen.

            "Just like I told you," he says, pressing his lips right up against her ear. She presses her hands on his chest defensively and he grabs them almost as fast as she'd moved, pinning her wrists against the wall. She gasps again.

            "Remember, what I said last session, before you made me leave?"

A fire ignites between Felicite's thighs, which part willingly when Bucky slides his knee up between them.

            "Look at me," he orders through gritted teeth. She closes her eyes again. Bucky releases her wrists to grip her chin. She trembles only slightly as he presses up against her and groans. The force of his body against hers is heart-stopping. His scent invades her nose, some aftershave of sorts when he presses his cheek against hers. She begins to press defensively at him again and he knocks her wrists against the wall for another moment.

            "Don't," he says with a hint of warning that creates a lump in Felicite's throat.

            "It's your _job_ to listen to me, no matter how much it disturbs you."

She keeps her eyes closed anyway as he begins to release her left wrist of his flesh hand, beginning to explore the skin of her back under the loose gown she wears. He whispers into her ear the nastiest things anyone has ever said to her, and when his hand makes its way into her panties, she squirms and an odd almost pained noise escapes her lips. She's anything but comfortable now as he goes on about how he'd choke her just within an inch of death as he fucked her deeply, unyieldingly. And she finally grips his strong arm as he attempts to graze her with his thumb. She fights him for only a handful of seconds before his metallic limb catches her mid-fall. She'd gone weak at his touch. It was satisfying, despite her denial, the frantic no's and stop's tumbling from between her quivering lips.

            Bucky groans with frustration and grips her head in both hands with a suddenness that catches Felicite off-guard. He brings her to the tip of her toes before pressing his forehead to hers. His pull knocks the breath out of her for a moment as he sinks to the floor with her. He whimpers and presses his head into her chest, sighing with a strange satisfaction, as if he'd climaxed. She stares at the ceiling in a daze as he kisses at her breasts, despite the thin fabric separating them from his mouth. He was in fact harmless, but she could still feel a hardness below his waist that she had not noticed before. Her leg rested between his and she could feel the desperation inside his pants.

            "Please. Just—help—me. I've done so many bad things…And I still _want_ to do so many bad things," he admits quietly. She can make out a sniffle before he simply collapses atop her, weeping. She lies there a moment as Bucky clings to her. Slowly, Felicite sits up straight to gently push her hands through his hair as she leans against the wall. She sits there caressing him for a full minute before he begins to relax. Her leg is still resting between Bucky's, and she slowly begins to feel him soften. Finally, he looks up at her with a tear-stained face.

            "I'm not a bad man," he says, but she can tell he's really saying this to himself.

            "Why do I think about hurting people?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. It doesn't scare her, this question, even as he sits up straight, once again towering over her. He pulls her leg from between his and kneels between hers. Bucky grips her knees.

            " _Why?_ " he asks urgently through gritted teeth.

            "We can discuss this in my office, in the morning. It's Sunday, James. You should be at home with Steve, sleep—"

            "I don't _want_ to go there," he admits. She jumps a moment.

            "Please, just let me stay here," he begs.

            "I'll—I'll stay away," he promises, standing suddenly and staring down at her with wide eyes. She wonders whether he hasn't been taking his meds. He shakes his head and mutters something, backing up, until he finally falls over the stairs. Felicite gasps and stands to come to his rescue. He'd already tumbled down the stairs. When she storms down to find him unconscious and not dead, she sighs with relief. It's nearly impossible to lug his strong body to the den, but she manages this difficult task, lying him as best she can on the sofa, turning the lamp on. She kneels at his side, presses a hand to his forehead.

            "Bucky…Bucky."

He shakes his head and groans a moment. She watches his big eyes flutter open and stare up at her. He just stares. Felicite grabs the blanket that had been resting on the couch and throws it over Bucky, tucking it into his sides.

            "Just try to go to sleep, okay?" she says. He watches her walk out of the room. She thinks about running up the stairs and turning on her cell phone to call Steve and have him pick Bucky up, but she doesn't want to lose his trust. He'd finally begun to start talking in their sessions, and she couldn't afford to cause a relapse. She'd been hand-chosen on this assignment, and she felt that she was making progress with him.

 

            She awakes to this odd pressure beside her, the kind one feels when someone kneels on a mattress next to them. She gasps upon finding Bucky sitting there staring at her. She sits up straight and his eyebrows crease together as if in confusion. Felicite places her hand over her chest, catching her breath.

            "Did you call Steve?" Bucky asks, and his eyes fall into a creepy shade as he tilts his head down, staring at her.

            "No—I didn't. I promise—"

            "Then why is he ringing your doorbell?"

The bell tolls again and Felicite jumps out of bed, but not before Bucky grabs her arm in an iron grip.

            "Do not tell him I'm here. I don't want him to…to know," he says, his gaze shifting nervously a moment. _Know what? His sexually depraved thoughts_. She knows then that he hadn't been confiding in Steve the same way he'd been confiding in her during their therapy sessions.

            "I won't tell. Now please let go of my arm," Felicite requests calmly. James acquiesces.

Felicite grabs a robe and rushes down the stairs to the door. Steve Rogers just about runs her over when he steps inside the house.

            "Have you seen Bucky?" he asks hopefully. I woke up this morning and he wasn't in my apartment."

            "No. I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he went for a walk."

            "Are you _sure_? Look, I know the things he tells you in those sessions…they’re confidential, but…"

She stops listening for a moment, sensing Bucky's gaze on her at the top of the stairs, out of Steve's view.

            "That's right, they're confidential, Steve. If he was going to hurt himself, you'd be the first person I'd tell," she promises. Steve eyes her for a moment and thanks her before walking out the door. James sighs at the top of the stairs.

            "He won't stop worrying. It gets to me," he admits, as she starts up the stairs. Bucky's stare never ceases, and she begins to feel uncomfortable in his watch.

            "You need to go talk to him. He's your best friend. You don't have to tell him everything you tell me, but you can't keep him in the dark."

Bucky stands up, and his sheer size causes Felicite to freeze halfway up the stairs. She pulls off the robe and tucks it under her arm. Bucky looks at her for a moment as if he doesn't trust her.

            "You said we could talk," he reminds.

            "Yes. At headquarters. I know that's where Steve is going now, and he's looking for you."

Bucky stares quietly.

            "Look, we don't start until two o'clock, and there are some things I want to do beforehand. So I think it would be best if you just go," she says, not meeting his gaze. Bucky starts down the stairs, and when he brushes past her, the chill of his metal arm catches her shoulder. She watches him walk out of the door into the cold morning without a word. Chills run up and down her spine. Last night, he broke into her house just to confess inappropriate feelings he had towards her. She knows she should do something about it, take protective action. He _did_ used to be an assassin. She hates to admit it to herself as she sighs under the heat of the showerhead, that she had grown aroused listening to him talk about fucking her, choking her. She cups her breasts and imagines his hands being there. It's madness and it's unprofessional. He's still a client. He's still capable of harm, but this doesn't stop turning Felicite on further as she pleasures herself impatiently. There was something weird about him, almost creepy. She wonders how long he'd been sitting on her bed, watching her sleep. She wonders whether he'd attempted to act out any of his fantasies while she had no idea he was sitting there. She climaxes, and her knees buckle as she crumbles to the shower floor.

 

            She walks into her office as if it's any other ordinary day, only to find Steve sitting on the couch, holding some kind of leather notebook.

            "Steve! You scared me," she admits, hanging her coat on the rack there. He apologizes and stands, making his way towards the doctor.

            "As you know, Bucky and I are great friends. I've been worried about him. He's lucky to have you. I don't believe anyone else would have agreed to sit in a room alone with him after knowing his history."

            "I'm doing my job, Steve. And I won't give up on him. That I can promise you." A little wave of nausea overcomes Felicite. She had lied to Steve just that morning.

            "Anyway, when he takes his pills, he seems to sleep better…but I found something that was kind of concerning when I woke up and saw that he was missing this morning. I was thinking that maybe you should take a look at it. I'm really hoping it doesn't come down to institutionalizing Bucky, but some of the things he said in here…"

He hands the notebook to Felicite. She sighs.

            "And I know—I know I must be violating the _hell_ out of his privacy right now, but I care about him, and I don't want to see something bad happen to anyone because of something I could have mentioned."

Steve grins before letting himself out.

            "And I found him here, in the gym. I guess he just got a head start to the day. He'll probably be stopping by later to talk with you. And I'll be with Nick for lunch around noon. You can give the book back to me then. I just thought it would be helpful, if you could read him more easily."

            "Thanks."

Felicite nods. She waits until Steve closes the door to immerse herself in what she assumes is Bucky's journal. As she flips through it, she reads in graphic detail some of the flashbacks he's had, the missions he's completed as a HYDRA assassin. She flips further in, wanting to get to something she hasn't already heard. It was in fact Felicite who had suggested Bucky keep a diary during the course of their sessions. She'd found the practice to be helpful, particularly in dealing with soldiers who had traumatic experiences…She wonders just how much of this Steve had bothered to read. Felicite finds herself and words she'd said to Bucky described with perfect clarity. And the more she reads, the more her blood surges and collects between her thighs; Bucky had written about the way she sits on the desk, the way her bra strap was once showing, falling down her right shoulder from under a cream-coloured blouse one Wednesday evening. He'd been paying more attention than she'd realized. He wrote about the way her lips would purse in anticipation when he bothered to talk. Sometimes, he spoke in Russian, something she thought he did simply to irritate her, if he wasn't stonewalling instead. As she reads further into his thoughts, she learns that what he'd actually been saying were things that would have made her blush, had she understood. Apparently he'd once told her that he desperately wanted to rip the dress from her flesh and fuck her raw atop her desk. She slams the journal closed, remembering the way James had smiled at her while mumbling those words that just sounded like some sort of smooshed gibberish in her ears. Basically all the journal boiled down to was how Bucky wanted to do things to her, or have her do things to him during these therapy sessions. She curses at herself for having gotten wet where she sits. Even his fantasies about choking her, raping her, were arousing. She assumes that if he'd legitimately wanted to hurt her, he'd have done so already. She's shivering when she tucks Bucky's diary into the top drawer of her desk. That deranged lunatic! She should hate him. Felicite thinks about the way he broke into her house and touched her. His behaviour was often unpredictable. He probably should have been in a facility where she could more easily keep tabs on him, but she knew that because he had Steve, he couldn't have posed nearly as much of a threat as he would without Steve as a support system. If Bucky was a threat to anyone now, Felicite knew it was herself alone. She shouldn't be fantasizing about him, too, should she? She paces in her office impatiently awaiting two o'clock. She wants to see the soldier, see what he'll do this time, if he'll even try anything inappropriate. There is a knock at her door and she stalks over to it to find Bucky towering there, seemingly lost in thought, leaning halfway in the door. He's changed his clothes, and looks as if he's showered, even brushed his hair.

            "Thanks, guys, but I don't think I need you waiting outside anymore during these sessions," Felicite admits, the two agents who normally waited in the hall while she spoke to James slowly walk away. He grins slightly, stepping past her into the room.

            "I'm sorry if I scared you last night, doc. I just didn't know where else to go and I didn't feel like talking to Steve."

            "It's okay," she breathes easily. When she turns around, she finds that Bucky is just standing there, his hands tucked into his pockets, staring at her desk. She wonders whether he's thinking about fucking her on it. She hears him mutter something, in Russian.

            "Please, have a seat."

Bucky moves to the couch and sits there. He clutches a cushion and just stares out the windows quietly for a moment. She walks around her desk and pulls the drawer out to stare down at his journal. He clears his throat a moment, his Adam's apple bouncing. His lips part slightly and she waits for him to start talking. She makes her way to the armchair not far from the couch and waits patiently. She isn't sure why, but she senses that he's in a better mood.

            "I keep having these dreams," he says.

            "You're not taking your meds?" Felicite asks, folding her hands atop her knees.

            "I thought we discussed this, James—"

            "I don't like being on drugs… _all_ the time," he admits, licking his bottom lip before biting it and giving Felicite a stern glance.

            "Okay," she says, "What are the dreams about?"

He stares at the door.

            "They can't listen in. Only if I ask for them, and I told them to leave. We're completely alone this time," she reassures him. He glances down at the hardwood floor, cocking a brow. She waits until he's ready. He throws the pillow aside and takes a deep breath, placing his hands on his knees.

            "I've been dreaming about having sex with you," he admits, looking her full in the face with a calm and collected expression. Felicite glances at the carpet a second, and when she looks again, James is sitting up straight, still looking at her. His eyes trace her legs in the tights and skirt she's wearing. Maybe she should have dressed down today. James bites his bottom lip again.

            "Well, sometimes I rape you instead. And I don't know if it's because…you're my psychiatrist so I just…think about you sometimes, or—or because…I can't even remember the last time I've been with a woman," he says. His voice takes on a tone of worry and then frustration. She notes how his nails dig into the couch as he continues.

            "Sometimes, it's like you want to fuck me, others, you don't, but I make you do things."

Felicite's heart rate picks up.

            "Does any of this scare you? I know I must've scared you last night, doc, but I can't stop thinking about you," he admits.

The way his eyes widen as he looks at her begins to unnerve the woman.

            "It would be really unethical for me to indulge these fantasies, Mr. Barnes—"

            "Don't call me that," he says.

There's a moment of silence.

            "You're my patient. How else should I address you?" Felicite asks genuinely.

            "Call me Bucky. You never call me Bucky."

            "Okay. Bucky, it would be…really unethical if I were to indulge these fantasies. Do you understand why? We have a professional relationship."

            "Yeah, I know," he says, looking down with some visible disappointment before catching her eye again.

            "But…I _really_ don't remember the last time I was with a woman."

            "And this bothers you," she says, more like states.

He starts to bounce his leg, a sign of impatience. He's biting the inside of his bottom lip.

            "So, why do you dress like _that_ every day, and sit on that desk so I can practically see up your skirt?" he asks angrily. Felicite walks over to her desk to write something down.

            "Yeah, just keep taking your little notes about what a freak I am," he says defensively.

            "I don't think you're a freak, James. I have to write something down," she says, glancing over at him. He sighs and shrugs.

            "You know what? Forget it. I don't feel like talking today."

He stands to leave her office and she pulls his journal out of the drawer. She holds it up in plain view.

            "Bucky."

He stops dead in his tracks and turns to look at what she's holding.

            "Where'd you get that?" he asks loudly, stalking towards her. Felicite backs up, finding herself against the window. Bucky snatches the book out of her hand.

            "What'd you do? This is mine," he says, staring down at it a moment. He then drops it and before she knows it, his hands are wrapped around her throat.

            "You're trying to make me crazier, aren't you?" he asks. He only squeezes lightly, but enough that Felicite grips his wrists. He could crush her windpipe if he wanted to, but she knows that he won't.

            "You _knew_ this whole time what I've been thinking about and you sat there fucking mocking me," he seethes.

            "No, I—"

And she chokes as he squeezes tighter. The back of Felicite's head makes contact with the window, and she can feel Bucky breathing against her mouth.

            "I'm _tired_ of doctors. I don't need to have my mind poked and prodded at too. I'm tired of everyone treating me like I'm _crazy_ ," he admits, but his grip loosens and she gasps for air before he kisses her hard, pressing his whole body into her like he'd done the previous night. She lets him and her eyes roll closed as Bucky explores her mouth excitedly with a heated tongue. His moan into her mouth, the exhale that escapes him and forces its way down her throat, arouses her all the more, and soon she's not trying to pull his wrists from her neck. She invites him by throwing her leg up against his side. He pauses to pick her up and drop her on the desk. He stares for a moment, trying to decipher the look on her face.

            "I had a dream that I fucked you on this desk," he breathes. She had been wet before the session even started, but it gets worse as he speaks, tells her all the dirty things he did with her in his dream. He approaches her and she inches back, an iota of fear settling in when he grabs at her tights and pulls them down her legs, knocking the shoes off along with them. He pulls at her skirt and she unzips it to help him before fumbling with the belt on his jeans. He pulls everything down his hips and grabs her legs with clawing nails. Bucky drops to his knees and pulls her damn near over the edge of the desk. His head is between her thighs before she has a chance to steady herself. He wasted no time in invading her deeply with his tongue. She had a metallic taste, he discovered, letting himself go entirely, kissing and moaning into, sucking at her sex. She gasps into the quiet air and he licks harder, with voracity and desperation. She was already wet by the time he got down there. He knew it then that she would stop denying that she wanted this. He licked her clean, feeling his hardness reach a point of pain. It hung up against his navel like a slab of stone. He stood up and pulled her by the hair so that she could watch him as he steadied himself at her entrance. He pulls Felicite's legs around his waist as he delves inside of her, slamming his fists down against the desk. He moans out loud, trembling as he's gradually enveloped in her sex, like a tight hug surrounding him. She covers her mouth, not wanting to be heard. He gazes down into her innocent eyes with satisfaction.

            "I thought you said you couldn't indulge my fantasies," he says with a straight face, in a breathy voice before grinning. She reaches up to claw down his chest, stinging him and he hisses through his teeth before restraining both her hands against the desk and beginning to fuck her mercilessly.

            "I only dreamed of what it would be like to be inside of you. It's better than I dreamed," he admits, pressing his mouth against her forehead. He releases her arms and she wraps them around him, inviting him closer. He grips the back of her neck, keeping her gaze on him. His moans make her even wetter and she curls her hips up, causing his cock to meld even deeper into her warmth. His unwavering strength had her gasping for air. He wasn't gentle, but just rough enough that she would remember this for days. He curses with relief, and she prays he's not nearing his end just yet. He'd gotten her close to climax when he was kneeling between her legs, but he only teased her to the brink. Bucky pauses to grip Felicite's chin. By now, she's dripping with desperation.

            "Open your mouth," he demands. She barely parts her lips. Bucky squeezes her cheeks, causing her soft lips to pucker. He straight up licks the roof of her mouth before sucking on her bottom lip. She digs into his spine, begging him to keep fucking. He drags this suffering out, pulling her into a sitting position to explore her mouth once more. His metallic fingers claw into her behind and she inches up a ways off the desk with a small whimper. She knew he'd bruise her again, but the thought whet her appetite. And just like that, he sways his hips forth in such a way that he brushes against her swollen bud, earning a loud moan, before he pulls out completely, leaving Felicite at a level of frustration that makes her want to hit him. And so she does. And he tackles her to the desktop with his hands around her throat again, squeezing harder than he had before. When she caresses his face, he eases up before turning her bodily and lifting her waist into the air. She finds him flush inside of her again before she can tell up from down. He slaps her behind and gives a deep thrust that causes Felicite to lose balance atop the desk. He grabs her with steadying hands, cupping a breast, wrapping his hands around her neck again. He continues thrusting, hard enough to fill the air with the sounds of her rear slapping against his pelvis. He can smell her on the air and it only makes him harder.

            "Fuck," he curses, slowing to a stop. He didn’t want to finish just yet, and she was so goddamn tight. He pauses to trail kisses down her back and neck, bite gently. His fingers roam down her stomach and find Felicite's clit. Her back arches when he grazes it with his metal thumb. She grabs at his wrist, and he uses the bionic hand to pin her hand down against the desk, attacking the sensitive organ with his flesh hand, driving her into a frenzy. She leans down upon her forearms, moaning and swearing, the metal grip still restraining her left hand. He wasn't going to stop until she begged him to keep fucking her.

            "Please," she finally breathes, squirming. He grins and grabs her hips to keep her in place before beginning the powerful motions again, until she's clawing at the desk, books have fallen off, and he's getting close. He grabs a handful of Felicite's hair and pulls her further into an upright position, using his free hand to massacre her clit until she's trying to pull his wrist away in an overwhelming ecstasy. He grunts with finality, clutching a warm breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers. When he finishes, he bites into her shoulder, running his tongue along her smooth skin, pulling her hands behind her back before wrapping his arms around her.

            "You've been prescribing me all the wrong drugs," he breathes into her ear, causing her to tilt her head to the side. Bucky slaps her butt again, causing her to jump, forcing his hand between her trembling legs to catch his seed as he pulls out.

            "You're the only thing I needed, doc."


End file.
